


Four Gallons of Oblivious

by Cassiara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, Bottom Ron, Bottom Ron Weasley, Coffee Shops, Drinking Games, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/OMC, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley/Neville Longbottom, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry Potter, Oblivious Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 00:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiara/pseuds/Cassiara
Summary: Ron is head over heels in love with his best mate, but it’s going to take more than a horrendous orange sofa, painted pornography, and opening a shop together for him to let Harry know.Written for the prompt: Best friends since day one, they decided to share a flat after the war. Can I ask for oblivious idiot(s) and mutual pining?





	Four Gallons of Oblivious

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you; Inevitabledrarry for doing an amazing Alpha read and Keyflight790 for being a wonderfull Beta. This story would be rotting in a google doc without the two of you!

“You’re living here?” Hermione asked, looking around the flat with an expression that wasn’t _trying_ to be judgemental, but ended up looking exactly like that regardless.

Ron looked at the flat, trying to see what Hermione saw. It wasn’t big by any stretch of the imagination. The kitchen doubled as a living room and the bathroom was so small you could probably use the toilet and shower at the same time if you wanted to. It wasn’t much, but it was what they could afford.

At least, it was what Ron could afford. Harry could probably buy a flat with the money he’d inherited that would be a lot nicer than this rented hole-in-the wall. He’d said he wanted to make it on his own though, not to depend on his parents’ money and live like a spoiled brat. Ron thought Harry didn’t give a shit about spending his parents’ money, but that he’d moved into the crap flat because it was what Ron could afford, and he was grateful Harry hadn’t ever asked him to just accept his charity money and move into some nice flat he’d paid for. 

“I guess I just expected something, erh,” Hermione said, trailing off before she could share what she’d thought.

“Bigger?” Ron suggested, “Nicer?”

The flat Hermione shared with her boyfriend, Henry, was twice the size of Ron and Harry’s, but Ron suspected Hermione hadn’t ever really experienced trying to make it in the world with little money. After they all went back to finish Hogwarts when the war ended, Hermione had moved back in with her parents while she studied Muggle law at a university. With a bachelor’s degree behind her, she’d started her job in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Being the brilliant witch that she was, she’d been promoted quickly. She earned well. Henry, whom she’d met her first month at the ministry, did too. When they finally moved out they both had high-paying jobs.

Of course, Ron had lived at home after Hogwarts too, but he hadn’t worked or studied. He and Ginny had come home from their final year at Hogwarts to find the Burrow in disarray. George couldn’t stay there, because the memories were too much, so he lived in the flat above his shop. Charlie, of course, had gone back to Romania, and Bill had his family with Fleur. Percy had moved in with George, and Ron suspected the decision had ended up saving both their lives – or at least the quality of them. With Ginny and Ron at Hogwarts that meant the Burrow had been empty, save for their parents. They hadn’t dealt with it well, as it turned out. Their dad spent most of his time in his shed, tinkering with his Muggle bits and pieces. Their mum spent most of her time in bed, in Fred’s old one more often than not.

“It’s like I’ve lost two children,” she’d told Ron once when he got up to piss in the middle of the night and found her crying into an empty bottle of sherry, “because I can’t stand looking at George. All I see is who’s missing.”

Ron had sent Ginny off to play Quidditch, and he’d stayed. He’d tidied the place up, and cooked and cleaned. He’d poured all the sherry he could find down the sink, and he’d found individual photos of Fred and George, so his mum could get used to seeing them as separate. He got recent photos of George, so she’d get used to seeing him without his brother. He bought Muggle appliances and broke them on purpose to lure his dad back in the house to fix them. Day by day, week by week, month by month, they’d started getting better. After a year his dad went back to work, and after a year and a half Ron started caring for his mum by letting her care for him. She’d started out small, making Ron and his dad Sunday dinners. Then she invited his brothers one by one. Finally, she had the whole family over, Harry and Hermione included.

Shortly after his twenty-first birthday, his mum had sat him down and thanked him for taking care of her and his dad, and assured him it wasn’t necessary anymore. She’d keep busy hosting Sunday dinners and babysitting Bill’s kid. They’d be fine, she’d said, and Ron should get busy living his own life. And that had all been well and fine, except Ron had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do. He’d talked George into giving him a job, and done that for a few years. Then Harry, who’d decided he actually hated being an Auror, asked Ron to help him fix up Grimmauld Place so he could give it to Teddy and Andromeda. Ron moved in, helped out when he wasn’t at George’s shop, and sometime during the year they’d decided they wanted to open their own shop.

It had been a decision made while very drunk, but it had stuck with them. “What do you mean Wizards don’t have coffee shops?” Harry had demanded, seemingly shocked at the idea that there were only pubs, restaurants, and an ice-cream parlour in Diagon, as if he hadn’t been there himself several times. It had been the beginning of an idea that had led Ron here, to a tiny flat just off Diagon Alley. 

“I guess I just thought you’d both saved up some more money working for George and as an Auror,” Hermione said.

“It’s all gone into the shop,” Ron grinned. He’d poured all his savings into the project, putting aside only enough to cover a few months’ rent until they started earning money instead of just spending it.

“Couldn’t Harry get something for you both to live in,” Hermione said, then apparently realised her mistake, “except that’s not how you guys work at all, is it?”

“I pay my own way,” Ron said, hoping it didn’t come across as too petulant. He didn’t like Hermione assuming he’d just let Harry pay most of their living expenses, with Ron dawdling along like some kept pet disguised as a best mate.

They both jumped when the door slammed open and Harry entered the room like a whirl-wind. The weight of having to die or murder Voldemort being lifted off his shoulders suited him well, Ron thought. He seemed lighter, smiled more and laughed louder, especially since he’d quit the Aurors.

“Mate, you won’t believe what I’ve found,” Harry grinned, “Oh, hi Hermione – I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Hermione barely had time to say a brief hello before Harry produced a miniature Sofa from his jeans’ pocket. He tossed it on the floor between the three of them and cast an Engorgio before Ron could stop him. The sofa immediately restored to its original size, pushing Hermione up against the wall and causing Ron to fall flat on his arse.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, resisting the urge to massage his sore arse as he stood up, “What the hell did you do that for?”

“Isn’t it brilliant?” Harry asked, pulling at the sofa so Hermione could free herself from her pinned position against the wall and completely ignoring Ron’s question.

Now that he really looked at it, sofa was a poor description. The monstrosity spanned from the far wall of their living room to the entry-way. It could probably seat Ron’s whole family at once, not that he was inclined to try it anytime soon. It was also several shades of orange, like it had originally been three separate orange sofas that had been put together to create the one.

“Gods, Harry, where on earth did you find this thing?” Hermione asked. She was bent over, rubbing at where the sofa had caught her in the knee.

Harry grinned and flopped down on the couch, laying down with his feet hanging from one end. He didn’t even take up more than half of the thing, lying flat like that, so Ron decided he might as well go sit down on it too. Ron sank into it, and realised that if his back was flush with the pillows, his feet ended up sticking straight out because he couldn’t bend his knees. The fucking sofa was deep as well as wide then. Feeling ridiculous with his feet sticking out, Ron pulled them into the sofa and let himself sink further into the pillows. If nothing else, the thing was so comfortable he was afraid he and Harry would both just end up living in it.

“So I was going out to get groceries, right, and I walked by this charity shop. The guy who worked there was having a very heated discussion about how they couldn’t possibly fit this thing into their shop, and the lady trying to donate it was in tears because she’d dragged the thing all the way over there, and she didn’t want to drag it back to wherever it came from.”

“Right,” said Ron, “so naturally you just strolled on over and said you’d take it off their hands, yeah?”

“Exactly!” Harry agreed, “And she just gave it to me, for free! Well actually after I offered she kinda ran off. I think she was scared I’d change my mind.”

Hermione was apparently done eying the sofa with scepticism and sat down next to Ron. “How on earth did you get it back here?”

“I might have used a mild Confundus on the charity shop guy, and then I just shrunk it down,” Harry said with a sheepish grin.

They weren’t technically allowed to use magic on Muggles, but a Confundus every now and then never hurt anyone, Ron figured. Hermione’s glare showed she disagreed, and he hurried to distract her.

“So did you get any groceries then?” he asked Harry, “Only I’m bloody starved.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, messing his hair up even more than it had been, “No – sorta forgot about that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled fondly. She couldn’t hide behind irritation forever, after all. “I’ll call to have some pizza delivered, shall I?”

The pizza was delicious, though Ron was half convinced the sofa had consumed several slices. Hermione left as Ron and Harry were nursing their food comas, and before he knew it, the sun started going down outside their window.

“We should probably get up. We were supposed to get settled in today, and we haven’t even unshrunk our beds,” Ron sighed.

“We have a couple more days before we take over the shop,” Harry yawned, “it’s no rush.”

Ron ignored the flush that went through him at Harry’s yawn. Nobody looked attractive when yawning, he told himself, especially not his best mate. Ron was just tired, that was all.

“It’s all well and good, we’ve got time, but I don’t really fancy sleeping on the floor tonight because we were too lazy to unshrink and make our beds.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry said with obvious fake annoyance, “though we could just kip on the sofa.”

“The sofa just ate half our bloody pizza, I’m not risking it.”

* * *

It’d been a bit of a shock when Ron found himself having strange dreams about his best mate when they’d returned to Hogwarts after the war. And when he felt the same flare of furious jealousy when he’d seen Harry kissing Ginny, as he’d done when the locket showed him Harry and Hermione snogging. Back then he’d genuinely thought he was jealous of Harry, only when it was his sister being kissed it became painfully clear who Ron had really been jealous of.

Thankfully, Harry and Ginny had only shared the one kiss before breaking it off, at least as far as Ron knew. He’d done much of the same with Hermione. The kiss they’d shared during the battle had seemed strangely anti-climatic, but he’d figured he could blame it on the literal war going on and have another go. Hermione must have thought the same because she went along with it, but when they broke apart the look of horror on her face reflected his own. They weren’t meant to be, and neither, Ron reminded himself forcefully, was he and Harry.

All in all, Ron figured living with Harry was great because he got to live with his best mate. But it was also terrible because he got to live with the man he’d been in love with for the last five years. Probably longer if you counted the time he wasn’t _aware_ he was in love with Harry, but Ron had decided not to.

He’d thought living with Harry in their flat would be much the same as living with him at Grimmauld Place while they fixed it up, except he’d forgotten to take into account the fact that the flat didn’t have an en suite bathroom. Ron was in the process of unpacking his clothes, when Harry, the idiot, decided to walk by his room dripping wet with only a small towel slung around his hips. Harry might not have enjoyed being an Auror, but Ron would be a liar if he didn’t admit it had left his friend looking too fit to be allowed. Harry had already worked up a tan from the early July sun, and Ron just knew the image of his tanned skin with water droplets running lazily down the light dusting of hair that lead the way from Harry’s belly button to what hid underneath the towel would haunt his dreams for weeks to come.

“Still unpacking, huh?” Harry asked, when Ron had stared for what was probably a moment too long.

“Yeah, though I’d finish faster if I took a note from your book and just tossed it all in random drawers,” Ron said. He wouldn’t pretend to be a tidy person, but he figured if the flat was going to feel like home, things needed to have a place where they belonged. Realistically, he’d just put his clothes on out of the laundry basket, but there was some comfort in knowing they should be in his drawers.

“Well you’re welcome to organise my room when you finish,” Harry laughed, “though we should probably get some breakfast and finish planning for the coffee shop we’re putting together on Monday.”

Ron snorted, because, yeah, they really should. They’d never tell Hermione or his mum, but he and Harry had gone ahead and purchased a run-down little restaurant that had been closed since the war without _really_ knowing what they wanted to do with it. They knew they wanted a coffee shop, and they knew they wanted it to be awesome. The rest, well… the rest they could plan today and while they took some time to fix up the old building.

“I’ll get dressed and put the kettle on,” Harry said, “See you on the sofa in 10?”

“Sure,” Ron agreed, even though he’d hear the kettle as it boiled. In Grimmauld Place, they could stay at home all day and almost never see each other because the place was just so huge. Here though, Ron thought as he watched Harry walk away, they’d be almost on top of each other.

“So,” Harry said, handing Ron his steaming mug of tea and snuggling into the sofa with his own, “I was thinking our shop should be like, the best of both worlds.”

“What, like Muggle and Wizard?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a coffee shop so we should obviously have coffee, tea, biscuits, pastries, and all of that. But I thought we could use that windowless wall to display some small stuff for sale.”

Ron closed his eyes and tried to see the shop they had bought. The main room you entered had four walls, obviously. Two of them had windows, one leading to the busy Diagon Alley and one to a small courtyard behind the shop where they figured they’d set up some tables for outdoor eating. One of the walls had the register and door to the kitchens, as well as the toilets. The final wall, though, was shared with the shop next to them, and therefore had no windows or doors at all.

“In that case, I want those pens and pencils Hermione gave us for Christmas ages ago, they’re a million times easier to use than quills,” Ron said. He’d started using the ones Hermione had given him and hadn’t bought a quill since. “And notebooks, we should have lots of notebooks.”

“And we should have both Muggle and Wizard sweets. Especially chocolate frogs now that we’re on the cards,” Harry said.

Ron pulled his wand out from where he was sitting on it and Summoned one of his empty notebooks and a pen. He quickly sketched out the outline of the room, filling in the doors and windows. Along the wall that led to the kitchen he drew in a huge countertop where they could have everything needed to make coffee, tea, and whatever other drinks they wanted. Then he drew in another counter where they could keep their register and baked goods.

Harry leaned in closer to look, and Ron had to hold his breath as his best mate pressed up against him despite the space on the huge sofa.

“So, uh, this is what we know we want – right?” he asked, deliberating whether he should hold the book closer to Harry to encourage some distance between them, or if he should keep the book exactly where it was, laying on his lap, so Harry wouldn’t move away.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and Ron swore he could feel his breath against his neck.

“Uhm, so you were thinking some shelves, ‘round here?” Ron drew in some rectangles along the far wall from the register. He wanted to turn his head and _look_ at Harry, but he was afraid if he did so Harry would be too close. Perfect kissing-distance close. It wasn’t worth the risk. 

“Yeah, but I don’t know. Now that I’m seeing it, it looks a bit weird to have to walk through all the seated customers to get from your piece of chocolate and back to the till.”

Ron tapped the shelves he’d drawn in with his wand, vanishing them off the page. “I guess we could put some shelves in the middle of the room, kinda like a room divider?” he suggested, drawing the shelves in to show Harry.

Harry leaned impossibly closer to look, and Ron could smell the fruitiness of the shampoo he’d used. Fuck, he was going to bloody die.

“That’s brilliant, mate! Gives the room a more intimate feeling too, when you sit down to drink or eat.”

They spent hours settling on the floor plan, calculating the size of their counter, shelves, tables and chairs. Ron argued in favour of a few loveseats for people who want to snuggle up with a book, and Harry got excited over outdoor furniture and fairy-lights. Muggle fairy-lights apparently were run by electricity, not actual fairies, to Ron’s relief.

“We should go to that restaurant down the street from our place,” Ron suggested, “check out the competition.”

“Or, you know, make sure we’re different enough that we aren’t competing,” Harry grinned. “But I am starving, we’ve been looking at this for hours! Let’s go get dinner.”

They both fought their way out of their massive sofa and pulled on their shoes. Ron figured they should probably change their clothes, but he was suddenly too hungry to bother.

“We’re not skipping lunch anymore,” he said, “I don’t do well without being fed.”

“Mate, I know, you get the grumpiest expression, it’s adorable,” said Harry, and then looked absolutely horrified, “er, I mean, you – er.”

“I get grumpy and you forget how to English,” Ron laughed, “Let’s just go eat.”

Ron appreciated the short walk to Diagon; it felt good to stretch his legs after being stuck on the sofa most of the day. As they walked he couldn’t help but think about what Harry had said. Merlin, he wished Harry thought he was adorable in any other meaning than ‘slightly annoying and grumpy.’ There really wasn’t any use hoping though, because Harry’s tastes didn’t even swing anywhere near Ron’s direction.

* * *

The next morning they accepted their keys from their perpetually tired looking Realtor, and entered what would become, hopefully, a coffee shop. It looked shabbier than Ron remembered from seeing it a month prior, but he was certain that after fixing up Grimmauld Place they were perfectly capable of doing the same here. At least he was almost certain, close to 70% at least.

“I can’t believe it’s ours now,” Harry said, striding into the room. His glasses reflected so much light Ron couldn’t see his eyes, but he guessed Harry was taking in the state of the room too. “I guess in bright daylight it looks a little worse for wear.”

“Yeah well I hardly dared disagree when the Realtor offered to show it to us in the evening,” Ron said, “she looks so tired all the time I worried she was half-vampire.”

“Can you even be half-vampire?” Harry asked, genuine in a way nobody raised in the Wizarding World would be. And fuck it if Ron didn’t love it when the little things Harry didn’t just know due to growing up Muggle became obvious. Not because he didn’t want his mate to feel at home in the world he lived in, but because he would usually only ask about them when they were alone. Realistically, asking him was just the easiest option, but Ron liked to imagine it was because Harry trusted him.

“Well no, not really,” he admitted, “but if anyone’s managed it, she has.”

“Snape did a better imitation, though I think his was intentional,” Harry said. He walked over to the far windows and attempted to open the blinds to let in more light, and when they wouldn’t open Ron vanished the lot.

“No point keeping them, right?” he grinned, when Harry turned with an affronted look.

“I know that, but I had them.”

“Sure you did,” Ron laughed.

They started by cleaning the place out. They Vanished the old furniture, some mice-droppings, what looked and smelled like decade-old food, as well as vines that had managed to grow through the small cracks in the windows. Then they started cleaning, hitting every surface, nook, and cranny with a strong Scorgify.

“We should probably give it a wash the Muggle way too,” Ron said with a sigh when they finally finished.

“Why? Doesn’t magic do the exact same thing?” Harry asked, looking curious again, damn him.

“Well, you know how you don’t feel really clean without a shower? Or how a toothbrush charm just doesn’t work as well as your actual toothbrush?” Ron said, watching as Harry nodded his agreement, “Well it’s kinda like that. Scorgify vanishes dirt, but it doesn’t actually clean things.”

Harry scratched his head, and Ron shared the sentiment – the whole thing confused him too.

“Or, I guess it does clean it, but not -,” Ron trailed off, “honestly, I don’t even know. It’s just something my mum says. You know how she always charms her sink to do the washing with soap and water instead of just using Scourgify? It’s because she says it’s only really washed when it’s with soap and water. It’s why she always made us clean our bedrooms the Muggle way.”

Harry laughed then, “Are you sure she didn’t just say that because she wanted you to clean your own rooms?”

“Oh, bloody hell, that’s probably exactly why she said it,” Ron groaned.

“Well, let’s get some lunch and then give the place a good scrub either way,” Harry decided, “Molly will probably check even if it is just a hoax.”

“She will, the menace,” Ron agreed.

Unnecessarily washing a run-down future coffee shop wasn’t the most amusing way to spend his evening, Ron thought, but the sweltering summer heat made it almost unbearable. If either of them had possessed any sense they would have bought the coffee shop during the winter, not the middle of July. They started with the walls, so they’d be dry by the time Dean was stopping by with some paint samples. Ron had no idea how Dean and Seamus had gone from exploding things to making paint, but then again, he supposed they wouldn’t understand how Ron and Harry went from aspiring Auror and actual Auror to opening a coffee shop either. The thing Ron really wanted to know was how Dean and Seamus had gone from best mates to boyfriends, though he supposed mutual attraction was a factor.

“Shit guys, you’re washing it all Muggle style?” Dean said after letting himself in through the front door. The door opening burst the fragile cooling charm Harry had cast, and the shop immediately flooded with heat.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry muttered. Before Ron had time to look away Harry had removed his sweat-dampened t-shirt, and cast an Aguamenti on his head. He moaned slightly as the cool water hit his skin. “Fuck that feels good,” he grinned at Dean, before recasting the cooling charm on the room.

Ron was deceased. Utterly and absolutely deceased, and Harry wasn’t allowed to just _do_ things like that! He couldn’t just moan like his dick was being sucked, and be all half-naked and attractive. And fuck, if Harry with his dick being sucked wasn’t a vision.

Dean stood in the middle of the room, looking quickly between the half-naked sex god that was Harry and the gaping fish that was Ron. Harry had gone back to his cleaning, apparently determined to finish his section of the floor before focusing on the paint. Ron was too busy staring and hiding his erection behind his bucket of soap and water to even consider cleaning.

Suddenly a lightbulb seemed to go on over Dean’s head, and he stopped looking at Ron like he was confused. “Ron, I didn’t know you were -,”

Ron cut him off before he could draw that sentence to whatever horrible conclusion it was about to reach. “Craving ice-cream? Well now you do, let’s go get some so Harry can come. Clean! So he can clean.”

Dean was obviously holding back a laugh, and doing a poor job of it, so Ron grabbed him firmly by the arm and steered him roughly from the shop.

“Oh my God,” Dean said as soon as the door swung shut behind them, ”you’ve got a major hard-on for Harry.”

“I don’t,” Ron, who was still clutching the bucket in front of his groin, insisted.

“I think I know what it looks like when you’re arse over tits for your best mate, actually,” said Dean. He was giving Ron one of his shit-eating grins, and Ron wanted to punch him in the teeth.

“It’s nothing,” Ron said. He put the bucket down, because Dean’s insistence that he knew how Ron felt was, if nothing else, an effective way to bring down his erection. He started walking in what he hoped was the direction of ice-cream. It wouldn’t do to come back with nothing.

“Mate, you stared at Harry for five solid minutes in there. Your mouth was hanging open so much I wondered if you hoped Harry would turn around and shove his cock in it,” Dean said, running behind Ron to catch up.

“Bloody hell, Dean. It’s nothing, just leave it.” Ron was pretty sure he’d gone from being red-haired to being red all over.

“I didn’t even know you were queer,” Dean said so loud Ron was half-convinced his mum would hear from however many miles away she was, “How did I not know you were queer?”

“Shut up,” Ron hissed. He looked around in a panic to see if anyone might have heard. To his relief the street seemed mostly abandoned, apart from a few shop owners closing down for the day. “Nobody knows– well, except you and your loud bloody mouth.”

Ron kept walking for a while longer before he realised Dean stood frozen several feet behind him. His grin was gone and he looked, for the lack of a better word, pitying.

“Oh for the love of -,” Ron muttered, rolling his eyes, “Are you coming, or do you intend to stand there staring at me like I’m broken for a few more minutes?”

Dean started walking again, but he kept looking like he felt sorry for Ron. After a few blissful seconds of walking silently, Dean spoke again.

“Why haven’t you told anyone?”

Ron scoffed, “What would be the point?”

He’d considered it, of course, but he figured there was no use telling his friends and family that he was gay but had absolutely no intentions of exploring it by dating or getting off with anyone.

“Well then you could -,” Dean started, before another lightbulb went on above his head, “you’re all in on Harry then?”

Ron decided not to answer. He’d not yet admitted out loud that he’d decided to spend his life pining away after his best mate, and he wasn’t about to start.

“He doesn’t feel the same way?” Dean asked, and Ron wanted to laugh because he made it sound like there was ever a possibility Harry would.

“Of course not,” he muttered, more to himself than to Dean. “First of all, he’s not gay, second – I’m his best mate. It’s just not meant to be, ok?”

“Harry’s not – er, I mean. I thought you were straight until about half an hour ago, I’m sure Harry thinks you’re straight too. How can you be sure he is?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ron muttered, “Cho and Ginny? That Muggle porn he got from Sirius’ old room and hung all over his walls? The birds he keeps snogging when we go out?”

“Yeah, like you dated Lavender and Hermione, you mean?” Dean said, and though he was walking behind Ron he was positive his friend was rolling his eyes. “You know, _I_ dated Ginny too and I’m not straight.”

“Harry isn’t bi either,” Ron insisted. He didn’t know why Dean was doing this, trying to convince him there was a possibility of Harry being queer. Ron didn’t need any bloody false hope; he was way too good at making that for himself. Hope had been well and good during the war, but now it just _hurt_ because it was always thrown in his face moments later. Something in his expression must have shown that he didn’t want to be having the conversation, because Dean changed the subject.

“You know, I had this huge crush on you at school,” Dean said. Ron walked straight into the ice cream sign outside Florean’s.

“You did not!” Ron spluttered, attempting to right the sign and stare incredulously at Dean at the same time.

“I did,” Dean insisted, “so you’re not as undesirable as you think.”

Dean walked off, presumably to buy ice cream for them all. His dark skin glowed with warmth in the afternoon sun and Ron wondered what it might have been like if he and Dean had ended up together. How different would his life be if he hadn’t always been pining after his best mate?

* * *

Harry wasn’t quite sure he understood why Ron had dragged Dean outside so fast, but he supposed Ron was tired of cleaning. Harry was tired of it too; he craved a cool shower and though the charm he’d cast worked to cool him down a little it didn’t last for long. 

By the time Ron and Dean returned with half-melted ice creams Harry had finished cleaning. He sat down to enjoy his cone and relax while Dean instructed Ron how to paint a stripe of each paint-sample on the wall.

“Come on Harry, you can help me paint the samples on the outside wall,” Dean said, grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling. After a brief struggle to keep his ice cream with him, Harry followed Dean outside.

“I think you left the paint inside,” Harry said, staring in confusion as Dean closed the door tight behind them.

“Fuck the paint. I just had an interesting conversation with Ron,” Dean said, “who’s under the very misguided impression that you’re straight.”

“Oh,” Harry said, finding a sudden interest in his shoes, “that.”

“Yes, that!” Dean said, sounding angrier than Harry would have expected. “You had sex with me, what, four years ago now?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, wondering where Dean was going with this. They’d both agreed they wouldn’t tell anyone. Dean had clearly been pining over Seamus and in need of, well, someone. Harry had been – well, he’d needed someone too.

“You’ve known you’re bi for at least four years and you still haven’t told your best mate! That isn’t healthy.”

“I haven’t told anyone,” Harry defended himself, “it’s not like I’m just keeping it from Ron.”

Dean looked up, exasperation clear on his face. “Lord, give me strength,” he said, still staring at the sky, then rounded on Harry again. “And now you’ve got me praying to a God I don’t believe in. Surely - _surely_ you see how telling no one isn’t _better_?”

“I just don’t want anyone to see me differently,” Harry said, wondering if he should look to the sky for assistance too. He wasn’t sure why he pretended he was afraid of anyone’s reaction but Ron’s.

“Mate, I know we grew up Muggle and that homophobia was like a Big Thing,” Dean said, “but even though the magical community is lightyears behind on all things stationery, queer rights is something they actually got right.”

“I know that, it’s just, well. I’m afraid Ron won’t be comfortable sharing a flat with me if he knows I’m attracted to hi- er, men.” And holy fuck, Ron was right that Harry forgot how to English when he was hungry or tired. At least he forgot not to tell Ron his hangry expression was adorable, and not to tell Dean he was attracted to his best mate.

“I can’t believe this, I actually cannot believe this. What did I do to deserve this?” Dean asked fist raised at the heavens as he spoke to it for the second time. “You’re in love with Ron, aren’t you? He’s the guy you were pining over when I was pining over Seamus and we had our unrequited pining fuck?”

Harry didn’t understand why Dean felt hurt that Harry had thought of Ron when they’d had sex. They’d both said they were alone and unhappily in love with someone they couldn’t have, and after several shots of tequila they’d ended up finding comfort in each other. It had been an awkward one-time thing, and Harry never imagined Dean would feel hurt if he ever learned who Harry had been talking about.

“I’m sorry?” he tried, “er – if that hurts you.”

Only at Dean’s frustrated groan did Harry realise he’d basically admitted to his feelings for his best mate.

“So let me get this straight,” Dean said, desperately attempting to pull at his hair, but finding it impossible because of the short shave he’d done for the summer, “you’re desperately pining over Ron. You have been for years, only you won’t tell him because, let me guess, you think he’s straight and you’ve got no chance? And you won’t even tell him you’re bi because what’s the point and what if he sees you differently?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Harry said, relieved that Dean seemed more frustrated on his behalf than strangely hurt like he had been before. “But I mean, it’s not that bad. I get to live with my best mate, and we’re opening a shop together.”

“Yeah, no that’s _fine_,” Dean agreed just as Ron opened the door with a nervous expression.

“What are you guys talking about?” he asked. He’d got a slight sunburn when he and Dean went to get ice cream, Harry thought; he was looking a little red.

“Oh nothing at all,” Dean said, “just talking about how good friends you two are. Just the bestest of platonic mates, you two are.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief that Dean didn’t tell Ron anything. He’d promised Harry he’d never out him, or anyone else for that matter, without explicit consent and it was a relief to see him keep his word.

“Oh, ok, that’s good,” Ron said, grinning at Harry and Dean. “I’ve got the paint samples done inside if you want to come take a look.”

Harry joined Ron inside to take a look at the samples while Dean stayed outside to “take a moment,” as he’d said. They knew they wanted something light, so they ignored the darker shades on the right. Ron insisted he wanted a pale orange, but Harry thought it looked like a weird skin-tone. He wanted the pale green, but Ron said it reminded him of St. Mungos.

“You guys should go with the pale blue over there,” Dean said when he entered, “it’s perfect for you guys.”

“Yeah, I mean, I like it,” Ron agreed. Harry couldn’t help but notice how the paint perfectly matched Ron’s eyes, and how standing next to it made them look brighter.

“Yeah, we’ll go with that one,” he said.

“Brilliant, that’s four gallons of ‘Oblivious’ then. I’ll have it ready for you in a couple of days,” said Dean.

* * *

Ron and Harry worked hard on their shop for the next week; changing windows, tearing down some old shelves and lamps, and finally, painting. When the paint arrived, Ron noticed it was called ‘Oblivion,’ though he could have sworn Dean said it was ‘Oblivious.’ He supposed it was an easy mistake to make.

“I suppose we should find something to hang on the walls when the paint is dry,” Harry suggested, “It’s a bit blue now, don’t you think?”

“What were you thinking?” Ron asked. Luna had recently taken up painting, and Ron supposed they could go with some of her landscapes. Her portraits were all nude though, and he didn’t think that would create a very family-friendly environment. 

“As long as it’s not those Chudley Cannons posters you’ve got up all over your room I don’t care what it is,” said Harry. 

“Well at least it’s not porn from the ‘70s like you’ve got hanging on yours,” Ron said rolling his eyes. He immediately regretted his words though, because talking to Harry about his porn never ended well.

“Yeah, well, they’re hot, aren’t they?” Harry said, “Nice to look at and all that.”

“Uh, yeah. Love the tits, and stuff.” Ron cringed. Dean’s insistence that he tell Harry about his sexuality rang in his ears. He’d figured he could just not tell Harry he was gay, but he was constantly lying wasn’t he?

“See,” Harry insisted, “Much better than the blokes you’ve got hanging up.”

“My walls are a tribute to Quidditch. The posters aren’t there as wanking material,” Ron hurried to lie.

“Well, if you’re wanking every evening you might as well have some inspiration in eyesight,” Harry said, blushing a little at the turn the conversation had taken.

Ron wanted to say that he had plenty of wanking material staring at Harry all day, especially after he’d taken to working shirtless, but he figured that wouldn’t fly. He felt like an idiot, lying to his best mate about his sexuality. It would have been so much easier if his best mate wasn’t also his love interest.

He’d been close to telling Harry so many times, but it always felt like he could just put it off for another day. Fuck, maybe what he really needed was some space. He’d been around Harry every minute of every day for weeks now. 

“Well, why don’t I go to Luna’s to look at some of her landscapes?” he suggested, “Then you can stay here and help Neville with the garden in the back when he arrives?”

“Why can’t I go to Luna?” Harry pouted, “I haven’t seen her in ages!”

“What, and have you return with several nude portraits? I don’t think so.”

Ron Disapparated before Harry could reply, and before they could end up in another conversation about the beauties of pornography. He landed a good ten-minute walk away from Luna’s house, figuring he could use the walk. He should suggest to Harry that they divide their tasks more often. He could blame the fact it would get the shop done sooner, so they could meet their self-imposed deadline of opening before the last weekend of August, when most people did their Hogwarts shopping. It was probably objectively a good idea, only the real reason was Ron’s desperate need to keep his sanity intact. 

Ron wasn’t surprised to see the floating Dirigible plums were still thriving, though he hadn’t quite expected the garden to be twice the size it had been when he’d last seen it. He supposed most of it was Neville’s work, though the floating watermelons had to be all Luna. 

“Hello Ron, I had a feeling I’d be seeing you soon,” Luna said, stepping out from behind a giant tree close to the front door. “I have a present for you.”

“I came by to see if you had any paintings for sale, the walls at mine and Harry’s shop are looking a little naked.”

“Let’s go to my studio then,” Luna said, grabbing Ron by the hand and pulling him inside. The whole house smelled intensely of flowers, and Ron suspected only some of the scent came from the actual flowers there. 

“Smells - er - nice,” he said.

“Yes, Ginny dropped her perfume this morning, I’m afraid we’ll all smell of flowers for a few days.”

“Ginny was here?” Ron asked. He’d thought his sister was still in Amsterdam at a training camp.

“Of course,” Luna smiled, pulling Ron past the living room and into her studio.

“Luna,” Ron asked, staring in horror at the painting that stood on her easel, “is that my sister?”

“Hmm, yes, isn’t she beautiful?”

Ron looked away from the horrific painting before his eyes fell out of his head. “She’s naked!” he spluttered, “she’s riding Neville’s cock!”

Luna smiled one of her soft smiles, like her world was just the perfect dream. “They were kind enough to let me paint them while they were intimate; they were at it for hours so I could get the details right. Isn’t that wonderfully kind?”

“Bloody hell, stop talking,” Ron insisted, “my ears are bleeding.”

“I don’t think they are actually, but I suppose you don’t like hearing about your sister’s sexual activities. She didn’t like the one I made of you.”

“You’ve painted me naked? How do you even know what I look like naked?” Ron asked. “Actually, nevermind. Take that painting down so I can look around without my eyes catching fire, will you?”

Roon stood staring at the door as he listened to Luna, hopefully, putting the painting of his sister away. “I thought you were dating Neville?” he said, trying to distract himself.

“I am. And Ginny is, and me and Ginny are dating.”

Ron wanted to scream. Ginny had managed to get into a relationship with her two best friends, and Ron couldn’t even come out to his. Maybe he should ask her how she’d done it. 

“It’s safe to look now,” Luna said airily. 

Ron turned around, and nearly screamed again. She’d replaced the painting with one of him. On his back with his legs slung over Harry’s shoulders as Harry fucked him. They both looked like they were experiencing absolute ecstasy, and Ron wasn’t sure if he wanted to drag his prick out and wank right there or break down and cry. The Harry in the painting had his hand on Ron’s cheek, and appeared to be giving it an affectionate caress. 

“Luna,” Ron said, voice quavering, “What _is_ that?”

“Your deepest desire, of course.” Luna looked so sure of herself, and bloody proud. As if making the thing had been a favour to Ron. 

“No it’s - why would you think that?”

“The cupid-fairies told me,” Luna said deamily, “and also Ginny. And Neville.”

“Oh for fucks sake, does everyone know I’m queer?” Ron said. He went to sit down on the weird sofa Luna had in her studio, before he remembered that’s likely where the scene she’d painted the day before had played out, and opted to sit on the floor instead. 

“Nobody knows Ron, because you haven’t told anyone and your voice is the only one that matters about these things.”

“But you all suspect it?” Ron sighed. If everyone knew then someone would eventually let something slip in front of Harry, and that would be that. Or maybe even Harry suspected Ron was queer too. 

First things first though, Ron had to buy the bloody painting so nobody else would ever see it.

“How much for the painting?” he asked, “And a couple of landscapes too.”

“This one is a gift,” Luna smiled, “and I’ll give you the landscapes for a Galleon each.”

Ron hoped with a burning desperation that he’d make it home before Harry did. He’d shrunk the paintings down as much as he could without ruining the paint, but he was still obviously carrying them. Bloody Luna and her painted porn. 

He dropped all three paintings in his hurry to get the front door open and inside the flat, and cursed as he looked down and saw his dick exposed to anyone who might walk by. How Luna had managed to paint an exact replica of how Ron looked naked he didn’t know, and he didn’t care to go back and ask. He hurriedly picked up the paintings and let himself in. He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t see Harry on their sofa or in their kitchen. 

“Ron, is that you?” Harry called, and Ron was horrified to hear footsteps. “Did you get the paintings?”

Ron dropped the two landscapes and stood, panicked, clutching the one of him and Harry fucking. What the fuck was he going to do? Harry’s footsteps were getting louder, and in a few seconds he’d see and everything would be ruined. Ron cast his eyes desperately around the room and landed on the sofa. In one quick stride Ron was standing right in front of it. He lifted one of the cushions and slid the painting underneath, just as Harry walked into the room. Ron threw himself on the sofa, hoping it’d look like that was his intention the whole time. At least, if Harry had seen him hide anything, he wouldn't be able to lift the cushion and see what it was. 

“Paintings are over there,” he said with a lazy gesture, relieved to note he only sounded a little out of breath. 

“Brilliant,” Harry grinned, “Neville said I was scaring the plants or something so he sent me home - he says it’ll be done by tomorrow.”

Ron groaned, “Don’t talk about Neville please. I’ve just seen a painting of him having sex with my sister.”

“Ginny? I thought Neville was with Luna?” Harry said, looking confused. Ron didn’t want to feel attracted to Harry when they were talking about who his sister was fucking, but then the idiot had to go and look confused like that. It wasn’t fair. 

“Apparently they’re all together,” Ron said with a grimace, remembering the porn too vividly.

“I didn’t realise Ginny was bisexual,” Harry said, looking thoughtful. “You’re ok with that?”

This was the moment, Ron supposed. He could tell Harry himself now, or have Ginny, Neville, Luna or Dean accidentally let something slip - and making it look like Ron had been lying to Harry. Well he had, but it was one thing when nobody knew and quite another when just Harry was in the dark. If nothing else it would look suspicious if Ron admitted to being gay to anyone but Harry. 

“Uhm, well. Yeah, I’m ok with that. Means I’m not the only queer Weasly, at least.” Ron was sure his face was on fire, judging by how hot he felt. He probably looked like a boiled lobster.

“No, I mean there’s Char -,” Harry started before breaking off, “Hang on. You’re saying you’re queer?”

“Yeah,” Ron said without looking at Harry, who by the sound of it was moving closer and sitting down next to him on the sofa. “I’m gay.”

“You’re having me on,” Harry said, sounding almost insulted. “What did Dean tell you?”

“He told me it was about bloody time I came out to my best mate,” Ron said. He felt suddenly afraid- what if Harry had asked how Ron felt about Ginny being bi because Harry thought it was disgusting?

“You’re really gay?” Harry asked, and even though he didn’t sound angry anymore, Ron couldn’t bring himself to look at him.

“Yes,” Ron said simply. He considered telling some sort of joke to take the edge off the serious feeling in the room, but his brain was too busy screaming _take it back, take it back_ for him to think of one.

“I’m not,” said Harry, and Ron wanted to laugh.

“I know you’re not gay, Harry, don’t worry. And I’m not looking to make things weird, it just - well it felt weird lying earlier. Saying I liked tits or whatever,” Ron said, somehow unable to stop his mouth talking. “I just - well, you’re my best mate and it felt weird hiding it from you. Not that I was actively hiding it, I just - never found the moment.”

“No you don’t understand,” Harry said. “I’m not gay, but I’m not straight either. I’m bi. Like Ginny, I guess.”

“No you’re not,” Ron said because honestly, what was he supposed to say to that? He still hadn’t even looked at Harry since he came out. 

“I definitely am,” Harry insisted. “Ask Dean, he was furious with me that I hadn’t told you.”

“Dean knew?” Ron asked, thinking back to the conversation he’d had with the man only a week prior. 

“Yeah, we - er, hooked up a few years ago,” Harry admitted. In his peripheral vision Ron could see Harry’s foot tapping at a rapid pace, always a sign he was nervous. He forced his brain away from the image it tried to create of Harry and Dean together, because that was a sure way to make him irrational from arousal and jealousy. 

“Oh, ok then,” Ron said. He wasn’t really sure what to say. He’d thought being in love with his straight best mate was painful, but it didn’t compare to being in love with his bisexual best mate. Harry liked men, he just didn’t like Ron. 

“I mean, I’m not looking to make it weird either,” Harry said, “Just - when you came out it felt weird for me not to tell you too. It’s not - it won’t change things with us, right?”

Ron blinked hard, keeping his eyes shut for several seconds to gather himself, then he finally turned to look at Harry. He looked bloody gorgeous, as usual, but nervous too. His cheeks were tinted red with a blush, and he was biting his bottom lip hard. His whole body was shaking from tapping his foot so vigorously.

“No, it won’t change anything, of course it won’t. We’re best mates,” Ron said, giving Harry a reassuring smile. He hoped it didn’t show on his face that best mates wasn’t really enough for him.

* * *

It took them a couple of days of awkward interactions, but Harry and Ron got back to normal pretty fast. In the end, pining after a straight Harry and pining after a bisexual Harry wasn’t all that different. Sure, it hurt that while Harry could like men, he didn’t like Ron - but the outcome was the same either way.

The shop turned out to be a blessing, because Harry and Ron were so busy shopping for furniture, ordering stock, trying out biscuits and pastry recipes and working out how to use their new coffee machine that they hardly had time to think. Ron almost forgot Harry’s birthday was fast approaching, and in a fit of desperation considered giving him Luna’s painting as a joke. He quickly discarded the idea though, and went with some safe broom polish instead. 

Hermione had decided to host Harry’s birthday party, since the shop wasn’t ready and Ron and Harry’s flat was too small to fit their entire group of friends. 

“I don’t have to wear anything fancy just because it’s Hermione and Henry hosting, do I?” Harry asked, sticking his head into Ron’s room where he stood wondering the same thing. 

“Well, I figure it’s your birthday, so if anything everyone else will be overdressed, won’t they?”

“Excellent point,” Harry grinned, “Jeans and a shirt it is.”

“Well go on then,” Ron said, “we’re late as it is.” Ron of course, wasn’t ready either, but he much preferred blaming Harry. It was Harry’s birthday after all, so nobody would bother him. 

The second Harry disappeared, Ron fished out his own set of jeans and a shirt, figuring it would be safe enough if it was what Harry was wearing. 

The party seemed to be off to a good start already by the time Harry and Ron arrived. Ginny and George were at the drinks table. They appeared to be mixing drinks, but Ron knew them well enough to suspect they were probably up to something. Dean and Seamus were on the sofa, a nice respectable beige sofa that probably didn’t have porn hidden in it, chatting away with Luna and Hermione. Neville was caught up in a discussion with Henry, that Ron immediately decided to avoid. 

“Harry,” George roared at the sight of them, “Happy birthday! I’ve made you a special birthday drink!”

Ron walked off before he could be talked into one of the special drinks. Besides, now that he thought about it, he had an issue to discuss with Dean. 

“Dean, mate. Could you help me with something in the kitchen?” he asked, interrupting whatever conversation had been going on between the sofa-sitters. 

“It’s all set up with snacks in there,” Hermione said, “you don’t need to do anything.”

“We do, actually,” Ron said, resisting the urge to pull Dean by the arm. “Right now.”

Ron was glad Hermione had a kitchen with a door, because the conversation he was about to have didn’t need to be overheard by anyone, before he could say anything though, Dean did.

“So did you tell Harry?”

“That I’m gay, yeah. But why didn’t you tell me Harry was bi as we were having the longest conversation about him being straight?” Ron demanded. 

“Same reason I didn’t tell Harry you’re gay. It’s rude to out someone without their consent,” Dean said, “I did heavily imply it though, didn’t I?”

“Well I guess,” Ron agreed. He’d wanted someone to be angry at for getting it so wrong in his head, but he supposed it was all him and Harry.

“And I guess congratulations are in order then,” Dean grinned. 

“Why?” Ron asked. He opened the fridge in hopes to find a cold beer, and grinned in victory when he found several. 

“You’re not together?” Dean asked, sounding confused. 

Ron opened his beer and took a long swallow before answering. “Of course we’re not. It’s like I said, he’s not into it.”

Dean stared at Ron without saying anything for so long, Ron almost finished his beer. 

“I can’t - I just can’t. Where’s the alcohol, I need alcohol,” Dean said, and abruptly left the room. Ron finished his beer in two long sips and grabbed another one before returning to the party. 

Dean was back on the couch in deep conversation with Hermione and Ginny. Harry was standing with his mouth firmly shut as George and Seamus laughed. 

“It won’t finish ‘til you’ve done the whole song,” George grinned. Harry threw him a dirty look.

Ron was about to ask what was happening when Harry opened his mouth and immediately started singing. 

“Happy birthday dear Harryyyyyy, happy birthday to me!” Harry finished the song to applause and laughter from George and Seamus. Ron held back a laugh in an effort to be spared Harry’s wrath

“I’m going to murder you George,” Harry said, “and you too Seamus, don’t think you’re getting off easy.”

“There will be no murder,” Hermione said. “Everyone come sit, we’re playing truth or dare.”

Ron watched as everyone shuffled closer to Hermione, finding a seat either on the sofa or grabbing a pillow to sit on the floor. Ron figured he’d opt out seeing as party games weren’t really conducive to keeping a secret. 

“You too, Ron,” Ginny said, waving him over so ferociously she spilled half her drink. 

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Ron said. He figured he’d go get another beer, and just watch as the others acted like idiots.

“So help me God Ron, if you don’t sit your arse down and play this game I’m going to kill everyone in this room and then myself,” Dean said, a wild look in his eyes. 

“Uh, right, I’ll just, erh -” said Ron, grabbing a bottle of fire-whiskey as he made his way to the sofa. 

“You know you’re bloody mental right?” he asked Dean as he sat down, “I mean, you do realise that?”

“Just for that, you go first,” Dean grinned. “Ron, truth or dare?”

Ron prayed Dean remembered saying he’d never out anyone, and chose truth. He wasn’t by far drunk enough to complete any of Dean’s dares.

“Hand over your bottle,” George demanded, holding a small vial in his hand. 

“What’s that,” Luna asked, sounding far less sceptical than Ron felt. 

“It’s a new product for our shop. Kinda like Veritaserum, only not as strong,” George said proudly, “It won’t force you to tell the truth, but it’ll make it impossible to lie.”

“Can’t play truth or dare if people are lying,” Neville agreed, holding out his cup. Everyone else followed suit until it was just Harry and Ron left. 

“You could just trust us?” Ron said, though he’d already lost hope he’d be exempt. 

“Come on, it’s my birthday! Can’t I be allowed off?” Harry said, sounding equally resigned. 

George didn’t even bother answering before putting a drop of the potion in Harry’s glass and Ron’s bottle. 

“So, Ron - truth you said,” Dean grinned. “Have you ever had a sex-dream about anyone in this room?”

Ron glared at Dean and tried to say no, but realised his mouth wouldn’t move. He didn’t feel pressured to answer though.

“Yes,” Ron said, relieved when the Potion didn’t make him blurt out _you and Harry_, but let him off with the yes. 

“I always knew you thought I was attractive,” George grinned, and bloody hell it was even worse when Ron realised it was true, that it had to be. 

“Shove off George,” Ginny said, “Go on then Ron, it’s your turn.”

They played a few rounds of everyone choosing truth. Ron figured they all wanted to get used to the truth-potion, and he probably wasn’t the only one who’d felt too sober for dares. Ginny admitted she’d fallen in love with Luna first. George said he’d never wanked over anyone in the room, Harry admitted he had. Hermione said she and Henry had fucked in her office. The questions asked were, predictably all about sex or something embarrassing. 

“Ron, truth or dare?” Luna asked, smiling that dreamy smile of hers. Ron was suddenly terrified, because what if she didn’t have the same qualms as Dean did about spilling someone’s secrets. 

“Dare,” he said - figuring he was drunk enough by now to handle that better than whatever question Luna might throw at him.

“Oh, wonderful - I dare you to sit in Harry’s lap for five turns. I’m sure it’s ever so soft.”

“Is that even allowed?” Ron asked, “it’s a dare for Harry as much as it is for me.”

“It’s allowed,” Dean said, and the glint of madness was back, so Ron didn’t dare argue. 

“Right,” he said, getting off the floor and walking to the sofa. “Budge over Seamus, I’m not sitting on your lap, too.”

Seamus moved to sit on Ron’s abandoned pillow on the floor. Ron took a deep breath and sat carefully down on Harry’s lap without looking at him, too scared he’d see disgust there. And _fuck_ it felt good to be so close, and not just because it was Harry. Ron wondered how long it had been since he’d really touched someone, besides a quick pat on the back. 

“Is that ok?” he asked Harry, because even though he might be afraid of looking at his mate, he didn’t want to hurt him by crushing him somehow.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, ”just -.” Harry worked his arm out from where it was trapped against the arm-rest, and after several seconds of holding it out awkwardly wrapped it around Ron’s waist and drew him in closer so he wasn’t slowly sliding off. He removed his other arm from under Ron’s legs and rested it carefully on Ron’s thighs. 

“That’s better,” Harry said. “It’s ok for you?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, working hard to keep his voice even. He tried to continue the sentence by claiming he’d rather sit on the floor, and remembered again that he couldn’t lie. But then again, neither could Harry who’d said it was ok to have Ron in his lap. 

Ron tried not to get too comfortable as the game went on around them, but he couldn’t help sinking into the warmth of Harry’s embrace. They were so close Ron could feel Harry’s heart beating, and every time Harry let out a breath it rushed warmly over Ron’s neck. Ron didn’t think he’d ever been that close with anyone for that long, not since he was a child. When five turns had passed he was reluctant to get off. When Ginny finished Seamus’ dare of kissing Luna though, his time was up. 

“Well, that’s five turns. I’ll just -,” Ron said, sliding off Harry’s lap to the empty space Seamus had left behind. He immediately missed his position on top of Harry, but at least the sofa was cramped enough that they had to sit pressed up against each other. 

Ginny turned to Harry then, who’d been left alone while he had Ron in his lap. “Truth or dare, Harry?”

“Uhm, truth, I guess,” Harry muttered.

“Did you enjoy having Ron sit in your lap just then?” Ginny asked, grinning at both Ron and Harry. 

Harry’s foot began tapping on the floor, and he was silent for a long time. Ron supposed he was trying to find an honest answer that wouldn’t hurt his feelings too much. 

“Yes,” Harry finally answered. Ron stared in shock, only distantly noticing that Harry took his bottle of whisky and took two long swings before giving it back. Harry had enjoyed having Ron in his lap? Harry’s foot was still tapping with such an intensity that Harry and Ron were both shaking, and Harry looked so nervous that when he’d finished daring George to use his socks for gloves while mixing a drink, Ron decided he should say something to calm him down.

“It’s ok, I liked it too,” he whispered - hoping no-one but Harry would hear, and that it wouldn’t freak Harry out. 

“You’re not freaked out?” Harry whispered back.

Ron placed his hand on Harry’s knee to keep his leg from bouncing, “No, I wasn’t freaked out. Like I said, I liked it too.”

“Little brother of mine,” George said, drink in sock-clad hand, “truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Ron said before he’d stopped to consider who was asking. Maybe he’d got too drunk, though he wasn’t slurring his words yet.

“I dare you to snog Harry,” George grinned, “while straddling his lap.”

Ron froze. He wanted to refuse, but he knew he couldn’t. Not when he wasn’t able to lie. He looked at Harry first this time. Seeing that his mate looked just as nervous as he did somehow helped though, and Ron grabbed hold of his shoulders to drag himself on top of Harry again without getting up. 

“Is this -,” he started once he was sitting on Harry’s lap, one leg on either side of his mate and faces just a little too close. “Are you ok with this?”

Harry nodded and removed his glasses, placing them on the armrest and wrapping his hands around Ron’s waist again. For a second Ron figured he’d just give Harry a quick peck on the lips and hope George accepted it, but then he realised that if this was the only time he ever got to kiss Harry he was going to make it good. He was going to make a memory that was actually _worth_ obsessing over for the rest of his life. 

Ron gripped Harry’s shoulders for balance as he leaned in for the kiss. He was taller than Harry, and sitting on his lap like this meant Ron had to lean down. Harry tilted his head to meet Ron, and thank fuck, because it would be awkward as hell if he hadn’t. The moment before their lips met, when Ron could feel Harry’s quick breathing against his own lips, seemed to drag on forever. Harry smelled of the fire-whisky they’d both drunk, and his pupils seemed huge against the green in his eyes. Ron was so terrified of ruining his one chance to really kiss Harry he couldn’t convince his body to move. Not until Harry slid one hand up from Ron’s waist and to his hair, pulling him gently in towards softly smiling lips.

And _fuck_ the moment Ron started kissing Harry he knew he couldn’t stop. Harry’s lips somehow managed the feat of being both incredibly soft, and slightly chapped at the same time and they felt like heaven moving against Ron’s own. Harry’s hand tightened in Ron’s hair, and Ron couldn’t haves stopped the soft gasp he let out even if he’d thought to try. Harry slipped his tongue in Ron’s mouth then, and Ron’s brain shut down. He didn’t consider all their friends watching, or that Harry wasn’t in love with him, or how ridiculous he probably looked. He just kissed Harry like there wasn’t anything else in the world. He moved his hands off Harry’s shoulder, using them instead to caress his face and relishing in the slight stubble he could feel there. Ron sat up higher on his knees, pressing closer to Harry in an effort to get more. More Harry, more contact, more everything. Harry leaned back against the sofa and Ron learned in to follow, moaning into the kiss in appreciation as it brought them even closer. Ron hadn’t even realised he’d been getting hard until his cock pressed against Harry’s stomach and he groaned again. When Harry lifted his hips and Ron felt his erection press up against the back of his thigh he broke the kiss with a gasp. 

The second his lips weren’t attached to Harry’s any more the world came flooding back in, and Ron could hear their friends laughing and yelling words of encouragement. All Ron wanted to do was lean back in for another kiss, but he couldn’t - though he struggled to remember why. In an effort to get his brain working again, Ron closed his eyes and let his head drop to Harry’s shoulder, trying to shut the world out for a little longer. He sat slowly back down on Harry’s lap, careful not to grind down on Harry’s erection or push his own into Harry’s stomach again. Harry moved his hands to rest on Ron’s hips, and to Ron it felt like an anchor. Something grounding him to the world so he could find his way back to his brain and his body. 

“Do you want me to move?” Ron said so quiet only Harry would hear. He didn’t want to, Harry was soft and warm and everything Ron wanted. Not to mention that if he moved off Harry everyone would see he was hard, it was bad enough Harry had probably felt it. But then, Harry had been hard too - so it could be worse. 

“No,” said Harry, fingers tightening on Ron’s hips. “At least not yet. I’m still - er, you know.”

Ron smiled against Harry’s neck, feeling safe that no one would see. 

“It’s your turn, Ron,” Seamus said. Dean growled and then Seamus added, “Ouch Dean, there’s no point in hitting me, it _is_ his turn.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said, “we’re done playing truth or dare. Now we’re playing _Never Have I Ever_.”

“You all know the rules?” Hermione asked from somewhere behind Ron, “someone says never have I ever something, and everyone who’s done it drinks.”

“Perfect time to test the true powers of my potion then,” George grinned. “We shouldn’t be able to lie by drinking or not drinking when we’re supposed to do the opposite. In theory at least.”

Somewhat confident that their friends were occupied with other things Ron removed his head from it’s safe position against Harry’s neck and sat back so he could properly look at his friend. Harry looked wrecked; his hair was an even bigger mess than it usually was, his pupils were blown and his lips were red. Ron forcefully resisted the urge to kiss him again. Realising his own erection had finally gone down enough that he could get off Harry without anyone seeing, Ron breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You good?” he asked Harry, who seemed to be staring at Ron’s lips. They were probably as red as Harry’s, if not more. Harry nodded, and Ron carefully lifted his leg over his mate’s lap so he could sit back down on the sofa. 

Ron wasn’t sure what to think. Harry had obviously enjoyed the kiss, but what did that mean? Was it because it had been too long? Was it just a physical reaction? Dare Ron hope Harry was actually attracted to him? Ron didn’t get a chance to figure it out before George thrust the whiskey bottle back in his hand. Ron supposed it must have fallen at some point during the kiss. Ron knew he should switch to beer, or at the very least something that wasn’t as strong as whiskey, but he couldn’t be bothered to get up and look for it. 

“Never have I ever had a threesome,” Luna proclaimed and took a sip from her drink. Ron wasn’t surprised when Ginny and Neville drank too, but he did stare in shock at Hermione as she jerkily pulled her drink to her mouth.

“You’re right, George, we can’t lie by not drinking,” she said, when she realised the whole room was staring at her. “I genuinely tried, just then.” 

Henry, who must have taken his drink so quickly and quietly nobody noticed smiled warmly at his girlfriend, and Ron figured maybe he should give the boring bloke another chance. Maybe he was just one of those people who seemed boring because they were nervous, or something. 

“Never have I ever been in love with a redhead,” Ginny said, smirking from her seat next to Luna who immediately took a drink. As did Neville, Dean and Harry. And bloody hell, half the room was currently or had been in love with his sister. 

Ron noticed though, that Hermione didn’t drink, and found he was relieved. They’d only thought they were in love after all, and it was a relief to see she agreed with his assessment. 

“Never have I ever been in love with a man,” Neville said after a moment’s thought, and bless him, he probably had no idea he was about to out Ron to the entire room. From the way he was looking victoriously at Ginny he’d just been wanting her to drink. 

Ron watched as Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Seamus, Dean, and to his surprise Henry took a drink. Then his arm started to shake softly, and he brought it to his lips to drink himself. He was so worried Ginny or George would start screaming about him drinking that he almost didn’t notice Harry drinking too. Harry had been in love with a man, and Ron’s brain immediately worked itself into overdrive wondering who it had been. Was it Dean? Or some other bloke Harry had never told him about?

“Good for you, Ron,” Seamus said, “And Harry too. No fun stuck in the closet, is it.”

Neville shot Harry and Ron apologetic looks, and Ron figured he’d been right about the other man’s intentions. 

“Why don’t I get congratulations,” Henry asked, looking affronted. 

“Because you’ve got a bisexual pride flag pinned to your coat,” Ginny explained, “Harry and Ron have been insisting they’re straight until right now.”

“They - you mean to tell me,” Henry said, staring at Ron and Harry in shock, “you haven’t been out this entire time?”

“I told Dean and Harry a couple of weeks ago,” Ron insisted, “and Luna.”

“I just thought,” Henry said before pausing and looking at Hermione. Some unspoken conversation seemed to happen between them then, “Well, nevermind. It’s your turn Harry.”

“Uhm, never have I ever had sex,” Harry said. If Ron knew him right it was probably in a lack for anything better to say, but Ron wanted to punch him either way because he _hadn’t_. It wasn’t that he’d never had the chance, it was just that there had been a war, and then there had been Harry, and Ron hadn’t wanted to. Not with anyone else.

“You need to define sex,” Ginny said, “because it can mean about a million things more than the classic penis in vagina or anus type things.”

“Er, right. Well, never have I ever put my fingers or prick into someone’s mouth, vagina, or anus - or had the same done to me in a sensual and consenting setting,” Harry clarified with a blush. He probably regretted saying it now, and when everyone in the room apart from Ron drank, Ron regretted not punching Harry before he could rephrase. 

“Ha!” George said when some time passed and Ron still hadn’t drunk, he opened his mouth to continue mocking his little brother when to his surprise Neville spoke up.

“George, I genuinely hope you’re not going to stoop to the level of making fun of someone based on how little or how much sex they’ve had, because I’m honestly tired of people being called a prude or pathetic for having too little, or a slut for having too much. As long as it’s all safe and consensual there is no ‘too much’ or ‘too little’. I’d think would be intelligent enough to see that.”

Ron shot Neville a grateful smile, and decided to take his turn before anyone else could comment on his virginity. He wasn’t in the mood for one of Hermione’s talks about how it was all a _socially constructed idea_, even though he tended to agree.

“Never have I ever masturbated at work,” Ron said and had a drink. He supposed it was easier to think of things you’d done yourself. 

George muttered something about hoping Ron hadn’t wanked off in _his_ shop, before he took a drink himself. 

“Never have I ever wanked over someone in this room,” George said. When everybody in the room but him had a drink he grinned, “Guess it pays to be a couple of years older.”

“Never have I ever known someone was in love with me,” Seamus said, smiling soppily at Dean before taking a drink. Dean drank too, and then stared at Ron as he didn’t. Harry didn’t drink either, and though Ron was relieved he didn’t know _he_ loved him, he thought it was sad that Harry had never felt like he was loved in that way. 

“Are you kidding me?” Dean demanded, “Even after all that? Even - no you know what, I’m not doing subtle anymore. I’m done. Never have I ever fallen in love with my best friend, and been to scared to tell them.”

Dean drank, and Seamus did too. Then Ginny drank, while Luna smiled and explained she’d never been afraid to tell Ginny or Neville she’d fallen in love. Ron’s hand started shaking with the effort of not drinking, and for a blissful moment he thought Harry’s might be shaking too, but it was just his bloody foot tapping again. Realising he had no choice, and that his movements would be jerkier and more obvious the longer he waited Ron drank. Then, Harry did too. 

Ron stared at Harry, who stared right back at him. Then they both looked at Hermione, and Ron thought, that’s it then. Harry was in love with Hermione. He supposed it explained why he’d never got together with anyone in the years since the war. 

“Oh honestly,” Hermione said. “You’re both idiots. Never have I ever been in love with Harry Potter.”

Harry turned to look at Ron, and Ron knew he was fucked. He saw his sister taking a drink, and thought maybe it was some Weasley curse to be unrequitedly in love with Harry Potter. Ron knew there was no way out, so he decided to be brave about it. He wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing, after all. Looking Harry straight in the eyes he took a long drink from his whisky, figuring if he was going to drink he might as well get some alcohol poisoning to go with his humiliation. 

Harry stared back at him, mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to say something without any words coming out.

“I’m sorry,” Ron whispered, “I never meant to - I’m going to go, I think.”

“Never have I ever been in love with Ron Weasley,” Harry shouted when Ron stood up. Ron whipped around so fast he’d probably feel it in his neck for days, but he didn’t care. Harry looked at him, grinned, and then drank from the bottle Ron had left behind. 

“You’re - wait, what?” Ron said, unable to make his brain work beyond the point of _Harry, Harry, Harry!!!_

“I’m in love,” Harry said, pulling Ron closer until Ron let himself fall into Harry’s lap, straddling him for the second time that evening, “with you.”

Ron didn’t get a chance to reply, which was just as well, since his brain was currently incapable of creating words. Harry grabbed him by the hair and pulled him into a kiss so passionate their previous one paled. It was clear now, how much they’d both been holding back then. This kiss was all teeth and moans and desperate pushing and pulling to be closer, to have more. Ron ran his fingers over Harry’s stubble and groaned at the feeling, letting Harry’s lips swallow up the sound. 

“Hallelujah,” Dean said, “Fucking finally! I nearly died, you know! Years! Years you’ve loved each other and been to stupid to see the other one felt the same way.”

Harry broke the kiss then, holding Ron’s head between his hands he stared intently at him. Ron felt like his deepest secrets were laid bare between them, and suddenly he was done hiding. 

“Is it true?” Harry asked, looking almost terrified at the idea that it might be.

“Yes,” Ron said, “I love you, Harry. I have for years.”

Harry looked feral then. Instead of replying he gripped Ron hard, and after the tight squeeze of Apparition Ron found himself in their monstrosity of a sofa, still straddling Harry. 

“You have no idea, none, how long I’ve wanted this,” Harry said before pulling Ron into another kiss. This one wasn’t as rushed, and Ron let himself melt into the slow moving of tongues and the little bites on his lower lip. When Harry twisted, and pushed Ron down on his back on the sofa he couldn’t hold back his moan. Harry crawled up between his legs, running his hands over Ron’s belly on the way. When Harry’s fingers brushed over Ron’s nipple Ron gasped, and pulled Harry down for a kiss. 

Ron wasn’t entirely sure when his brain turned back on, but when it did he was moaning and rutting up against Harry, his cock aching in his pants. The sudden realisation that they were going to have sex hit him, and suddenly he was terrified. He’d imagined it a million different ways. Fast and hungry over the kitchen counter, soft and sweet in dim lighting, a wet tongue opening him up, or swallowing Harry down. He’d even imagined this, wanking each other off on their sofa. He’d never, in any of his fantasies, been drunk though. He suddenly realised he didn’t want to be. 

Harry reached out and started to open the buttons on Ron’s shirt, and Ron used all his willpower to reach out and place a stilling hand on Harry’s. 

“Harry, I love you,” he started.

“I love you too, Ron, for so long,” Harry breathed and continued unbuttoning Ron’s shirt. Ron arched into the touch and had to fight to keep his wits.

“Stop,” he managed, and Harry immediately released his buttons and sat up on his knees. “I want this, really, I do - just,”

“It’s your first time,” Harry said, looking horror struck at the realisation.

“Well yeah, and it’s our first time together. And we’re drunk.”

Harry backed off Ron completely then, placing his back against the armrest of the sofa and looking impossibly small. Ron worked his way into a seated position too and ignored how the movement made his jeans uncomfortably tight on his hard cock. 

“Oh God, oh shit. I’m so sorry!” Harry said, looking terrified. “I didn’t - I, fuck, I fucked it up already.”

“You didn’t!” Ron assured. He reached out slowly, scared that Harry would jump off the sofa entirely. He breathed a sigh of relief when his hand made contact with Harry’s ankle, and he rubbed it slowly. 

“I loved everything we just did, I just - I want to be sober when we take it further than that.”

Harry took a deep breath and seemed to steady himself, “Yeah, yeah that’s a good idea.”

“I know,” Ron grinned, “I’m brilliant.”

“I’m scared I’ll wake up and this was all a dream,” Harry said, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Come here then,” Ron said, gesturing to the space next to himself. “You can be the big spoon and we’ll kip on the sofa.” Part of him was terrified too, that he’d wake up alone in his bed the next morning, to a Harry that wasn’t _in love_ with him. 

“Think it’s safe?” Harry joked, gesturing at the sofa. 

“At this point I’m sure it’s grown fond enough of us not to eat us in our sleep. Besides, who would feed it pizza if we were gone?” Ron asked, mentally adding, ‘not to mention gay porn’.  
The next morning Ron woke up feeling soft, warm and safe. His head protested the amount of alcohol he’d drunk, but it was nothing compared to the air of relief and pure joy Ron felt at waking up in Harry’s arms. 

His lack of snoring must have alerted Harry that he was awake, because the arms around him tightened. “Do you still mean it?” Harry asked. 

“Mean what?” Ron said, feeling bewildered. 

“Do you still love me?” Harry clarified, and Ron could hear the nervousness there.

“Yeah, definitely.” Only what if Harry had asked because he didn't? “Do you?”

“Fuck yes,” Harry said, breathing a huff of relief into Ron’s neck. “You know, I think I fell in love with you in our third year. Didn’t realise until after the war though, when I tried getting back with Ginny and just kept thinking of you.”

Ron smiled, though he supposed he should have some sympathy for his rejected sister. She’d found love though, so he didn’t bother feeling too bad. “I realised I loved you then too, you know? When you kissed Ginny,” he said, “thought I was just jealous of you before that, imagined myself in love with Hermione and everything. Merlin knows how long I’d already loved you by then.”

“Are you telling me,” Harry demanded, “That we both realised we loved each other in nineteen-fucking-nightyeight?”

“I guess so,” Ron said. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at their stupidity. 

“It’s been seven years,” Harry said, “It’s, we’ve wasted _so much_ time.”

Ron had to agree, but he couldn't seem to muster up the same feeling of loss as Harry. He had Harry now, he had everything he’d ever wanted. The only thing he could feel was grateful.

“I mean, it’s not like we’re starting from scratch,” he said, “we already live together. We’re opening a shop together, we buy joint christmas-presents, my family already know and love you. We’ve pretty much been married for years.”

“Mmh, true,” Harry said, pulling Ron closer. “But we’ve missed _this_.”

“Guess we’ll just have to make it all up then,” Ron grinned, “I don’t mind catching up on seven years of cuddles and fucking. Kinda look forward to it, if i’m honest.”

“Fuck,” Harry whispered. His hips buckled in what Ron thought was an involuntary motion, because Harry pulled back again immediately. Ron hadn’t missed the erection brushing up against his arse though. 

“You know,” Ron said, feeling suddenly breathless, “we’re not drunk anymore.”

“We’re not,” Harry agreed. “Though my breath smells like I am.”

Ron rolled out of the sofa with a massive effort, walking over to where his wand had rolled under their table. He cast a breath freshening charm on them both, and then a cleaning charm for good measure. They could shower later. 

“Hang on,” Harry said, when Ron was about to get back into the sofa. “Something’s been poking at me all night.”

To Ron’s horror Harry got out of the sofa, and lifted up the sofa cushion, pulling out the painting. 

“Ron,” Harry choked staring at the painting. “Is this, holy fuck, this is me fucking you.”

“Yeah,” Ron said because honestly what were you supposed to say to your best friend recently turned, well more, when he found painted pornography hidden in the sofa. 

“Oh fuck. Did Luna paint this?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Ron said again, struggling for an explanation, “she said it was a gift. My deepest desire or something.”

“Luna painting us naked should not be this hot,” Harry said, then dropped the painting and turned to stare at Ron. “Hang on, your deepest desire is to be fucked? By me?”

“Well, don’t forget the lovey-dovey expression she’s painted in your eyes,” Ron defended himself, “but yeah. Why do you think I don’t need any porn on my walls, I stare at you all bloody day!”

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, and Ron supposed they must look like idiots, standing facing each other in front of a too-big sofa, messy haired and wearing their clothes from last night - both of them panting with arousal. Their easy bravery from last night was gone, and Ron supposed since he was the one that had stopped it he should give Harry the green light somehow. It shouldn’t be this scary to ask for what he wanted, because this was _Harry_. His best mate, whom he’d known since forever. He trusted Harry, he loved Harry. And Harry loved him too.

“Can I suck you off?” Ron asked, tapping into some sort of lust-based bravery he didn’t know he possessed. 

Harry gaped at him, and then nodded so fast Ron half thought he was having a seizure.

In two quick steps Ron stood in front of Harry, and he dropped to his knees without preamble. They should probably move this on top of the sofa, or to a bedroom, but Ron was done waiting. He reached up to unbutton Harry’s jeans, smiling a little as he realised Harry was wearing one of Ron’s old pants underneath. The worn grey pants already had a wet spot on them from Harry’s arousal, and Ron pressed his face against them, taking in the musky scent that was all Harry.

“Fuck, you’ve no idea how good you look like that,” Harry said, brushing a hand through Ron’s hair. “It’s so much better than I imagined. You’re so beautiful.”

Ron could feel his face heating at the praise, but he continued nudging his face against Harry’s cock through his pants, mouthing a little at the wet spot. 

“Ah, fuck, and that blush. Fuck I love how expressive it is. You don’t have to say a word for me to know how you’re feeling.”

Encouraged by Harry’s words and heavy breathing Ron pulled the pants down to rest below Harry’s knees with his jeans. Harry’s cock jumped out immediately, hard and weeping. And it wasn’t like Ron had never seen it before, but fuck it looked good like that - red and hard for Ron. Now that it was out though, Ron wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed. 

“Here,” Harry said, bending down to grab one of Ron’s hands and placing it at the base of his cock. “Fuck, yes, just - do that. And if you want, you can put the tip in your mouth. Don’t try to take it all at once though, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ron smiled up at Harry, and realised suddenly that he had nothing to be afraid of. This was Harry. They’d helped and supported each other through every aspect of their lives - of course Harry would help him with this. Of course they’d figure it out together.

Ron closed his hand around Harry’s cock, and worked it slowly up and down - trying to get used to the mirrored wanking motion. When a drip of pearlescent white escaped the head of Harry’s cock Ron leaned forward and licked it off without thinking, and was rewarded with a deep groan from the man standing above him. The taste was similar to his own come, Ron decided, and not at all unpleasant. Breathing deeply through his nose, he opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around Harry’s cock. It was a bit strange, trying to work his mouth around so much, but the moan Harry let out, and the fingers that tightened on his hair spurred Ron on. 

He took as much in his mouth as he thought he could, and sucked as he moved back off, humming slightly in appreciation as Harry’s breathing sped up. Feeling braver Ron moved his spare hand to cup Harry’s balls and bobbed his head back down, making sure to cover his teeth with his lips. The next time he pulled back he ran his tongue around the head of Harry’s cock, smiling around it as much as possible when Harry cursed and pulled at Ron’s hair hard. And fuck, Ron figured having his hair pulled like that should be sending waves of pleasure through his entire body and to his cock, but he couldn’t help bucking his hips in search of friction. 

Ron kept bobbing his head over Harry’s cock, relishing in the bitter salty taste that leaked from it. Inevitably though, he took too much in and gagged. The sensation sent another shot of arousal to his cock, but before he had time to linger on it he had to pull off Harry entirely, coughing heavily. 

“Shit, sorry,” Harry gasped. Ron was pleased to see he looked absolutely wretched. His bottom lip was bright red, probably from biting it and his pupils were blown wide. 

“My bad,” Ron said, coughing a final time, “got a bit carried away. Besides,” he hesitated, “it was kinda hot.”

“Holy fucking hell,” Harry moaned, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

“These jeans will be the death of me,” said Ron, groaning as he pressed a hand against his jeans-covered cock. 

“Take them off then,” Harry laughed. It sounded breathless with arousal, but Ron was profoundly relieved that they could _do_ that while having sex. That it wasn’t all lust and intensity, but could be humour and everything that made them _them_ too. The next few seconds turned into a frenzy of Ron fighting with his button and kicking his jeans off. Harry stepped out of his jeans and pants, and then peeled off his shirt. Ron pulled his shirt over his head, relieved he’d never bothered to close the buttons Harry had opened the night before. 

“We should,” said Harry, but seemed to lose track of his thoughts as he looked Ron up and down. Ron wanted to cover himself with his hand at the attention, but the look of pure _want_ in Harry’s eyes, the way his mouth remained opened before he licked his lips convinced Ron to keep his hands by his sides. 

Ron let his eyes trail down from Harry’s face, over his nipples. They were darker than Ron’s own, but then again most of Harry was, he was gorgeously tanned from the summer sun, and Ron let his gaze travel down until he reached the pale skin where Harry’s pants had shielded him from the sun. Fuck, Ron wanted to run his hands and tongue over all of it. 

Harry seemed to have the same idea, because he stepped closer and grabbed hold of Ron’s hips. His hands were warm, and Ron sighed. Now that Harry was so close their height-difference were obvious, and Harry was at the perfect height to kiss and bite at Ron’s neck, something he did with enthusiasm. 

“Fuck, Harry - Merlin, you’re perfect,” Ron groaned, throwing his head back to give Harry better access. The bites and licks along his neck and collarbone hurt in the best way, and his cock was desperate for friction. Harry’s hands were like iron on his hips though, holding him in place despite Ron’s attempts at pressing their groins together. 

Finally, Ron remembered he had hands too, hands that were hanging uselessly against his sides. He reached up and ran his thumb over Harry’s hip-bone where his tan line was most obvious. Harry bit down hard where Ron’s neck met his shoulder and Ron moaned, bucking his hips against Harry’s hands again. 

“Shit, Ron - you’re so responsive. I never want to stop touching you like this, want this to last forever,” Harry said, lips moving against Ron’s skin as he spoke.

“You don’t have to stop,” Ron reminded him, “we’ve got years to catch up on, remember? We’re - aah - we’re going to have to do this several times a day for ages.”

“I can’t wait,” Harry said. He finally loosened his grip on Rons hips, and Ron sincerely hoped he’d have bruises. However he quickly forgot the thought as his hips were free to push forward and he finally, _finally_, ground his cock against Harry. Standing up like this, his cock hit Harry’s belly, and he felt Harry’s wet cock rub up against his thigh. It was the best sensation in the world, it had to be. Fuck, Ron wanted this to last forever too, but he couldn’t wait anymore. He needed Harry _now_.

“So about the painting,” Ron said, gasping between words as he kept moving his hips against Harry. “Feel like recreating it?”

“Fuck,” Harry moaned, grinding harder against Ron’s thigh. “Yes, yes I do. Get on the sofa.”

Ron gathered all the willpower he could muster and stepped back from Harry who, despite having told Ron to get on the sofa, whined at the loss of contact. Ron didn’t waste any time in climbing into the orange monstrosity. He couldn’t believe he’d been mad about the size of the thing when he laid down and Harry had all the room in the world to climb in between his spread legs. 

Harry knelt in front of Ron and ran his hands up and down Ron’s thighs. “Are you, I mean - are you sure you want this?”

Ron bent his knees and lifted his arse of the sofa slightly, trying to give Harry acces. “Merlin, yes. I haven’t wanted anything but this, please Harry. I don’t want to wait anymore, please.”

Harry whimpered and held his hand out expectantly for a few seconds before a total of three bottles of lube came flying at him. Harry’s hand closed around one, and Ron recognized it as his own. The one he’d used to slick up his fingers in order to push them inside himself and imagine it was Harry. The one he’d used on his dildo two days ago as he’d charmed it to fuck him in slow steady thrusts. He couldn’t believe Harry was about to spread it on his fingers, that Ron would finally _have this_. That it would be Harry’s hand working him open, Harry’s cock. 

Ron lost himself in the images, in the wonder of it all, and he jumped when slick fingers ran gently down from behind his balls to his hole. “Fuck,” he gasped, lifting his arse as much as he could. Harry used his position to slip a pillow underneath him, and Ron let himself relax into it. 

“God you’re so responsive, I bet I could make you come without even touching your cock,” Harry breathed, fingers moving gently over Ron’s puckered hole.

“Merlin, Harry, nevermind about my fucking cock,” Ron gasped, “put your fingers in me. Please, fuck, I want you.”

Harry shuffled closer and, so gently Ron thought he might die, pushed a finger into him. Ron held his breath and threw his leg over the back of the sofa in an effort to give Harry better access. 

“God you’re so warm, and tight, shit. And your freckles, Ron, they’re everywhere. I’m going to lick every single one. It’s my fucking life-mission. God I love you,” Harry said, the words falling out of his mouth fast and making Ron groan. 

Harry turned his head and licked at the ankle Ron had resting on the back of the sofa, moving his hand faster and pushing his finger deeper. Ron tried to push back against Harry, but found he couldn’t move much in his current position - one of Harry’s hands in his arse and the other clutching Ron’s hip again. Everything felt so much better, so much more intense, when it was Harry doing it. Ron had figured he’d be ready for fingers in his arse, since he’d done it himself so many times, but he’d been the one in control then. He’d always known when the fingers would move, how hard and how fast and how many. Harry was in control now though, and it was _brilliant_.

Harry pulled out and pushed back in with two fingers and Ron couldn’t keep thinking. He was all feelings. Harry’s lips on his leg, Harry’s grip on his hip, Harry’s fingers in his arse. Harry, Harry, Harry. Harry moved his fingers inside him, and Ron let out a sound he didn’t know he was capable of making. His cock ached, precome spilling freely from the tip now. Ron reached a hand out and ran a finger through it, feeling the glistening stuff between his fingers. 

“Lick it off,” Harry said, eyes fixed on Ron’s hand. “Taste yourself.” He moved faster in Ron’s arse as Ron brought his hand to his mouth,smearing the precome on his lips before licking it off. He tasted like he always had, but the look Harry gave him was priceless. 

Ron didn’t know how much longer he would last. Pleasure was pooling in his lower abdomen, in his thighs, in his arse. He desperately wanted to just let go, but he _needed_ Harry to fuck him first. He couldn’t wait anymore; In fact, Ron figured he was done waiting for anything.

“Shit, I’m not going to last long,” Harry said, gently pushing a third finger into Ron.

“Bloody hell, Harry, if you don’t fuck me _right now_ I’m going to come before you even get your dick in me,” Ron said, moaning and gasping between the words. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry said, but Ron could almost taste his impatience. He wanted this as much as Ron did. 

“I’m loose, I’m wet, I’m so fucking ready for you Harry, _please_,” Ron begged. Harry groaned and closed his eyes, but didn’t move. 

“Harry, please. Fuck me, I need you, I want you. Love you so much, please, please fuck me. I don’t want another minute where you haven’t fucked me, Harry _Plea-,_.” Ron’s final word were cut off by the sensation of Harry’s cock pressing against his hole and he stopped talking, his mouth too busy moaning and gasping for breath. Harry pushed all the way inside and Ron wrapped his legs around Harry to pull him closer and lifted himself up on Harry’s cock. 

“Fuck,” Harry said, “you feel so good Ron, fuck.”

“Then move!” Ron demanded, desperately trying to fuck himself on Harry’s cock, but finding Harry’s hands were holding him still again. And fuck, it was hot being held down like that. 

When Harry finally moved, Ron thought he’d scream, but the what escaped him was almost silent, just a raw breath. He wasn’t going to last; he was going to come with Harry’s cock up his arse and it would be magnificent. 

Harry’s first few thrusts were steady and controlled, but they soon became erratic. Harry moved hard and fast, hands tight on Ron’s hips. 

“Gah, Ron, I can’t - I’m going to,” Harry gasped, but Ron was too far gone to respond. 

Harry moved his hands then, placing one next to Ron’s head and using the other to grab Ron’s hair and pull him into a fierce kiss. Pleasure shot down his spine to his groin and Ron was coming. His arse clenched around Harry, and then he was coming too, pulling away from the kiss with a gasp of Ron’s name. Ron’s entire body shook as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him, his hands clutched at Harry’s forearms as he gasped for breath. He could feel Harry’s slick come in his arse, and running down his arsecheeks as Harry fucked them through their orgasms. His body felt so good it almost _hurt_ and even through the haze of pleasure Ron couldn’t help but feel eternally grateful he’d get to feel it again.

After the pleasure had burned it’s way through them both Harry collapsed on top of Ron, burying his face in Ron’s neck. Maybe he had a neck fixation, Ron thought, feeling giddy.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Harry said. “I’ve had this dream so many times and I’m terrified I’ll wake up and this will have been one too.”

“Guess it’s a good thing we don’t have time for a nap then,” Ron grinned, “we’re getting that coffee delivery in like an hour after all.

“More like half an hour,” Harry said. Ron could feel him smile into his neck. “We’ve been at this for quite a while.”

“Mm,” Ron hummed. “I’d like to be at it all day, but let’s go to the shop so we can get the coffee. Then we’ll have sex in the shop kitchen after.”

“Fair warning, I’m going to be ridiculously clingy until I realise this is real,” Harry said, and as if to prove his point, he clutched Ron a little harder. 

“Mate, your cock is still in my arse - I think I’ve realised. Won’t hear me complain though, I’ll be insatiably horny for the rest of forever probably”

* * *

The shop was set to open in ten minutes, but Ron couldn’t care less. He’d pulled Harry into the toilets for a quick wank before letting customers in, and the hand on his cock felt like pure bliss. He would have preferred to be doing this in the kitchen, or even in the small garden Neville had created - but he’d figured it would be a bit unprofessional to fuck on top of biscuits they were about to sell. He’d suck Harry off in the kitchen after closing, Ron decided, tightening his grip on Harry’s cock. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Harry said, “we should stop. Everyone’s already outside.”

“That just means we should hurry,” Ron said, moving his hands faster over Harry’s gorgeous prick and bucking his hips against Harry’s hand. 

“You’re a terrible influence,” Harry said, gasping into Ron’s neck.

Ron grinned, “nah, I’ve just got my priorities in order.”

“And - oh fuck - orgasms take priority to our grand opening?” Harry said, laughing breathlessly. 

“Orgasms take priority to everything, when I’m having them with you,” Ron said. He figured they really should hurry though, so he worked his hand over Harry’s cock even faster, giving his wrist a little twist at the end the way he’d learned Harry loved. “After we close today I’m going to get on my knees for you in the kitchen, I’ll let you fuck my mouth and come down my throat and I’ll drink it up like it’s fucking cake icing.”

“Oh fuck,” Harry moaned bucking his hips into Ron’s hand as thick ropes of come shot from his cock. Ron wasn’t far behind, and he buried his face in Harry’s hair as the pleasure rode through him, figuring his mate’s ridiculous hair would soften his moans enough that the potential customers outside wouldn’t hear. 

Hermione was the first person into the shop when Harry and Ron finally opened the doors. They were only a couple of minutes late, and Ron figured that was well within the acceptable.

“Oh, this place looks wonderful,” Hermione said, eyes wide as she took in the shop. The blue on the walls had turned out very nicely, Ron had to agree, and they almost looked like an extension of the blue skies in Luna’s paintings. Neville had transformed their backyard into a beautiful garden, and it made for a very pretty view. It didn’t take Hermione long before she noticed their shelf of stationery though, and she was off before Ron could reply. 

“Congratulations mate,” Dean said as he walked in, holding hands with Seamus. “You’ve got some, er, icing on your shirt though.”

Luna came over just as Ron grabbed his shirt to inspect the stain. “That’s not icing,” she said, making Neville and Ginny laugh behind her. 

“I know it’s not icing Luna,” Dean laughed, “I was just trying to be subtle.”

“Subtle doesn’t work with this one, remember?” Seamus put in, laughing along with Neville and Ginny. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m an oblivious idiot, I get it,” Ron grinned. “Go buy some tea, I think you’ll find one named after you.”

“It’s not the Meddling Menace, is it?” Ginny said, laughter still evident on her face. 

“It is,” Ron grinned, “Though yours is the Grumpy Ginger.”

“What’s mine?” Luna asked before Ginny could attack her brother. 

“Clairvoyant Creep,” said Ron, “and Neville is Green Garden.”

“How come Neville get’s the only nice one?” Dean complained. 

“Because I am the only nice one,” Neville said - come on, let’s go try them.”

By the time they closed he and Harry both declared the opening a huge success. They’d sold enough coffee, tea, biscuits and pastry that they’d have to increase next-weeks orders if the demand kept up. More importantly though, was the warm sensation of satisfaction Ron felt, and the grin on Harry’s face. They’d both loved it, the chatting with customers and the baking of biscuits and the brewing of coffee. Their job was perfect for them both, and they’d get to keep doing it for as long as they wanted. 

“I figure we’ve got no choice but to celebrate now,” Harry grinned. 

“Celebrations are definitely in order,” Ron agreed. He grinned at his boyfriend, gave a wink, and then walked into the kitchen to keep his earlier promise.


End file.
